


Burn

by Rosella_Burgundy



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: The Slytherin Cabal, F/M, Ink, Love Triangle, Old Magic, Redemption, The Slytherin Cabal's Death By Quill 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-07 03:55:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18865189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosella_Burgundy/pseuds/Rosella_Burgundy
Summary: An ancient ritual presents Leta with a hard choice. Her decision will free her from the shame and guilt that taint her past.





	Burn

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [DBQ2019Round3](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/DBQ2019Round3) collection. 



> Written for The Slytherin Cabal: Death By Quill 2019 - Round 3  
> All my love to my alpha/beta...I_was_BOTWP...words cannot describe how much I owe you. All errors left are my own.
> 
> Award: Admin's Choice Award - Tori...thank you!

 

* * *

 

 

 

Leta Lestrange had known for a long time that she was fated to meet a fiery end.

How she became privy to the knowledge is a dark story that involved arcane magic.

It all started with a dream of a little corpse swaddled in a white blanket sinking in crimson ink.

Leta woke with a jolt, a horrified scream still tearing her vocal cords. She sat up and rubbed her eyes until they hurt, in an attempt to dissipate the image of a drowning infant that seemed branded behind her eyelids.

Unwilling to fall back into the nightmare, she tore the duvet off her sweat-damped legs and left her bed. The cold humid air of the dungeons didn’t refresh her; her heart still raced in her chest. The walls seemed to cave in on her. She craved open air and the soothing presence of Newt.

After a quick glance at the clock, she rushed out of the dormitory and Slytherin common room. That early in the morning, Newt could be only in one place. She ran away from the dungeons and out of a little side door at the end of a hidden passage in the west wing. Hustling down the hill, she immersed herself into the Forbidden Forest.

When she reached the Thestral paddock, her heart slowed down, despite the run, the second she laid eyes on a familiar Hufflepuff boy. His black and yellow scarf was wrapped tightly around his neck and shoulders while he spoke with one of the winged horses, his head to one side and a gloved hand caressing the leathery beak of the monster.

Those animals were a gory sight, reminding her of her shame as though they were Death himself. Their skeletal bodies and hollow eye sockets made them appear lifeless.

As her stomach coiled with discomfort, a mare huffed and neighed in her direction, giving away her presence. When Newt turned to face her, she froze. Literally. Not only because his shiny blue eyes stopped her hands from shaking in the aftermath of her dream, but also because she realised that she must be looking dishevelled and unkempt. She had only grabbed a cloak and slippers. Her bare legs felt suddenly very exposed.

If Newt had noticed her preoccupations, he chose to ignore them. “I can’t find an explanation regarding how these creatures are not freezing out here. They are always cold to the touch but don’t seem to be bothered,” he wondered while the fall wind lashed at them.

Leta bit her lip before she could tell him that the answer was hiding in the Thestrals’ deathly appearance. A spark of curiosity briefly came to life, and she contemplated the idea of touching one of those creatures to feel for a heartbeat. The glow died faster than a Centaur’s dart could fly.

Newt cast a warming charm on the paddock, more for her than the Thestrals, she knew, and smiled sheepishly at her. The freckles on his nose crunched together in the way that melted her heart.

His good nature was so entrusting that she felt like screaming her worries out to him. On the contrary, she quickly came to her senses, her self-preserving nature telling her not to spoil the only beautiful human connection in her life.

Newt reached in his school sack and pulled out a soggy, red-stained paper wrap. While he unfolded the parcel, Leta almost gagged. It was raw meat.

Immediately, the Thestral herd gathered around him, eager to dip their beaks into the juicy flesh, their bony hoofs digging into the frozen ground.

Newt’s blue eyes moved to her as he dumped the meat into the paddock, his gaze shy behind a curtain of tousled brown hair.

The blood seeped into the snow like ink soaking into parchment, staining the pureness with death.

“You look pale…” Newt flinched immediately after he said it, as though he wished he could take it back.

She swallowed. “They look like monsters.” Her breath shook as a creature ripped a bite out of a bloody bit.

Casting his gaze low, his head canting downwards, he approached her. “You can see them.” It was not a question, so she remained silent. He heaved a sigh and continued, “I can’t. But I know that they are gentle and misunderstood beasts. Magic runs through their veins the same way it flows through ours.” He tentatively extended a hand towards her as though he wished to comfort her with his touch. Perhaps, he understood that her soul had been shaken by far more than the mere sight of Thestrals eating.

The hand paused mid air when he noticed that his mitt was soiled with blood; his cheeks turned a darker shade of red. Tentatively, he removed his gloves and abandoned them on the ground. He was moving slowly as though she were a skittish creature that would flee or fight if he weren’t cautious.

Leta’s heart fluttered in her chest. The young man before her was hopelessly selfless, compassionate and, of more importance, helplessly in love with her. She was as sure of it as much as she knew that she didn’t deserve him. Fuelled by this knowledge, she couldn’t help throwing herself at him, her lips crushing on his mouth.

Despite how cold his skin felt, a soothing fire warmed her insides and thawed her heart. She knew she was a monster, fouler than any dangerous beast, but Newt loved her anyway. Leta had witnessed how Newt Scamander couldn't help falling in love with all the monsters that crossed his path, and she had the feeling that she was no exception.

As he awkwardly responded to her blunt actions, she understood that she was doomed to burn for this man until her eyes closed forever.

Perhaps one day, she would be worthy of his love. The death-stained ink in her dream reminded her of the Old Gods and an ancient ritual.

Maybe, if she could find a way to repay the debt she owed to the Old Magic, Newt would rightfully own her heart in his kind hands. Always.

 

* * *

 

At twenty-one years of age, Leta appeared to be a respectable pureblood witch, living according to the norms of her time. She had a job as a manager at Flourish and Blotts. Her dresses were always elegant and tidy, her hair pinned neatly in intricate coiffures. Her smooth skin was plump and luminous, and her dark eyes enhanced with a faint line of purple cajal.

Despite her seemingly flawless exterior, her insides were a turmoil of emotions, always on the verge of exploding and wrecking that perfect facade.

Shame and guilt corroded her mind and heart like lava tongues, slithering through her in a macabre dance.

Her core was consumed by the ignominy of what she had done to her own flesh and blood, flashes of a sinking baby flooding her nightmares and day terrors.

Like a cursed soul, Leta kept hurting the people around her. Salazar knew how the guilt of being the reason for Newt's downfall tainted her every thought. There was rarely a waking moment when she wouldn’t replay the final instants of their relationship - the way he took the blame for her own wrongdoings.

The incident with the Jarvey was entirely her fault. While experimenting with ways to control the will of the magical creature, she had never meant for that Ravenclaw student to get injured. Driven by her self preservation, she was not sure that she would have stopped Newt from going to Headmaster Black’s office, had she known that he was determined to take all the blame in her place.

Her guilt had kept her from reaching out to Newt even after she graduated Hogwarts. She deemed herself unworthy of his love, and buried herself with work within the tall bookcases at Flourish and Blotts.

Her whole life had been a loop of regrettable actions. She simply couldn't stop hurting people and creatures, willingly or not.

When she decided to consult the Fates about her future, longing to be rid of that vicious cycle of damage, Leta was aware that she needed to act within this year due to the importance of her age. Twenty-one was a mystical number, a multiple of both three and seven, which were magical numbers themselves.

So, before the next anniversary of her birth, Leta Lestrange stepped through the threshold of a cave consecrated to the Old Gods, blood dripping from the tip of her fingers. The crimson fluid dotted the ground where the ancient magic of the earth still pumped strong through the craggy veins of a mountain on a deserted island of the Hebrides.

In the heart of the enormous cavern, she found the henge of monoliths in the centre of where the ritual would have to be performed.

As she crossed the perimeter of stones, the satchel attached to her wrist became suddenly heavier as though the magic of the earth were pulling it towards its depths. Magic surged from the dirt beneath her and a tingle raised the hair on her arms. Above her, the moonlight shone through a single hole in the ragged ceiling.

Her heart was still hammering from the hunt, and it thundered louder while she knelt down. When her kneecaps hit the stone, an ominous wind whistled within the cave.

"Gods, Fates. I humbly present myself before you. Accept my offering and make me the beholder of my future.”

As though she had been heard, the air quieted.

With a heavy thud, she deposited the enormous heart of the Hebridean Black she had just killed on the ground before her. Unclasping the satchel from her wrist, she slipped out a single roll of parchment and a raven feather. Two immaculate moonstone pebbles and a metal inkwell rolled out of it.

Once again, guilt spread through her. Although the despicable act of killing a dragon under the full moon was necessary to obtain the blood to add to the recipe, Newt would be ashamed of her if he knew what she had done.

The organ was still beating when she collected enough drops to fill the inkwell halfway. With the tip of her wand, she sliced her hand, the blood shining sinisterly as it twirled and mingled with the dragon’s.

Unrolling the parchment, she took a fortifying breath. Despite that she had just faced a dragon, the part of the ritual that she feared the most was yet to come.

Dipping the quill into the crimson ink, she wrote her name, her hand slightly trembling.

“How do I break this cycle of bad judgment? How can I redeem myself?” she whispered.

The wind roared and screamed, stealing the parchment from its resting place and carrying it upwards above her head. The sheepskin disappeared, but the freshly written words remained. Her name floated and shifted until the ink pooled into a globe.

A voice spoke from another plane. It could have been a God, a Fate, or the dragon itself. It was so loud that it forced her eyes shut. Her body bowed down until she was prostrate.

“There’s a choice to be made. Once you’ve decided, your life and magic will burn, and you’ll be absolved.”

After silence had returned, Leta remained prone for a few minutes, her chest heaving and her eyes watering tears of exhaustion and confusion. Forlorn, she feared it had all been for nothing.

When her lids opened again, she saw black. The cavern had fallen into darkness, not even the moon shining on her. Pulling out her wand, she cast a _Lumos_  . After her pupils adjusted to the light coming from the tip of her wand, Leta looked at the ground in front of her. The heart was not there anymore, just a pool of blood as proof of her crime and the parchment floating in it. The words of the Gods were branded on it in lieu of her name. The moonstones, too, bore two symbols imprinted with the same bold, dark red ink: _Gebo_  , the rune for crossroads, and _Kenaz_ the rune for torch.

 

* * *

 

It was not until she met Theseus Scamander, shortly after the ritual, that she understood the hardness of the choosing that had been foretold to her. The first time she stumbled upon him, it was a mere coincidence.

The Ministry Archives were a sweet sight for her book-loving soul. Bookcases stretched from floor to ceiling in endless rows. They each must have been at least fifty metres tall and two hundred metres long. It was majestic, and she knew that her cheeks bore a dimple as she grinned like a fool. Books of all ages and sizes, and scrolls and stacks of parchment filled the shelves in that particular orderly manner that she adored. Perfection calmed her shaky nerves.

She had been summoned by the Master Recorder to evaluate the state of the scrolls in the Dark Wizards Section. There were concerns about a possible outbreak of bookworms. Flourish and Blotts had fought against those pests multiple times, unfortunately, and she was an expert in banishing them. Since she started working there, there hadn’t been as many infestations as in previous years.

She had hesitated to agree to the assignment at the Ministry mainly due to the risk of crossing paths with Newt. An article in the _Daily Prophet_ about his imminent world-wide research for his upcoming book gave her the peace of mind she had required. Nevertheless, her heart had fluttered wildly while she hurried across the Atrium to reach the golden gates of the lifts.

As a stocky Recorder guided her through the archives, he instructed her in regards to the required secrecy and confidentiality roll of parchment that he was carrying in his hand.

“An Auror is already awaiting us at the Dark Wizards Section. He will witness your signature on this official document and personally escort you into the restricted archives.”

Leta smiled, amused by all the bureaucracy and mistrust. “An Auror? Are you afraid a simple bookstore manager would steal the dark secrets of the criminals of the past?”

A stern look prompted a sheepish grin on her part. A husky voice answered just beyond the corner. “It has happened before, Miss Lestrange.”

Circling the end of the bookcase, Leta’s gaze landed on a tall man with broad shoulders leaning on a black gate. Above his curly head, there was a sign: Dark Wizards Section. His blue eyes shone like sapphires against his pale skin as a smirk played along sinful lips.

A sizzling warmth pooled in her abdomen, and she swallowed as her left hand rose to her throat where it fidgeted with the two moonstone runes that she used as pendants.

“Theseus Scamander,” he introduced himself, and her heart raced to the pit of her stomach, images of a Hufflepuff Beater prancing along the halls of the Hogwarts Castle coming to the forefront of her memories. Newt’s brother - war hero and skilful Auror.

As she began working, she tried to not think about his smouldering glances. He had rested his shoulders on a stack of books, his jacket abandoned on a chair, his sleeves rolled up to reveal big, strong forearms.

Her breath came in shaky, shallow gasps as she treated the records with the proper spells and potions. As she unrolled a scroll, faded words stared at her. The old black tusche had withered into a faint red tint. The piece of parchment suddenly reminded her of the one that she kept in her vault, imprinted in crimson ink.

The second time they crossed paths, she had the nudging feeling that Theseus had something to do with it. When a Ministry owl swooped into the bookstore, it carried an invitation for Miss Leta Lestrange to the exclusive Christmas reception at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

_To properly thank Flourish and Blotts for the invaluable work of preserving our most precious records._

Theseus met her at the fireplaces, his gaze raking over her violet dress before he captured her eyes with his. After kissing the back of her hand, he escorted her towards the Fountain of Brethren, his hand ghosting between her shoulder blades. She shivered as though his hand were a glowing ember on her cold skin.

“The Slytherin girl that Newt had told me so much about, is so different from the woman before me today. I look forward to getting to know you better, Miss Lestrange.”

His sincere, crooked smile ignited a firestorm on her skin that left her gasping for oxygen.

He led her around the crowd all night, introducing Leta to the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, Torquil Travers, and other important Ministry men and women. Leta forgot all other names due to the fact that Theseus’ guiding hand on her back kept getting lower, and his glances at her smouldered darker. By the end of the night, when he bid her goodnight at the fireplaces, his fingers were brazenly resting on her hips, leaving trails of fire while he informed her in a low, gruff timbre that he would soon need her assistance with a book purchase.

He was blunt and knew how to achieve his deepest desires. Although at the very beginning Leta had feared that he wanted to get close to her to win a familiar feud with his brother, she soon discovered that his intentions were heartfelt and well-meaning. He wanted her. And like a man who kenned his way around the world, it didn't take long before he took her too, her body writhing in ecstasy and her voice singing his name in the darkest aisles of Flourish and Blotts. His burning blue eyes shone with a passion that took her breath away, like flames incinerating her lungs. She burned for him with the same fervour he put into everything he did.

As she was falling in love with Theseus, she finally accepted that the Gods were right. She had to force her heart to decide whether she would let her body burn for Theseus Scamander - the fair warrior with a passion for her body and mind; the hardworking, responsible man that was everything she could not fathom herself to be - or let her mind be captured by the warmth of Newt Scamander’s kind heart - the creature lover with a passion for monsters that would accept her even if he knew her deepest shame.

 

* * *

 

Grindelwald’s deranged eyes radiated confidence as he expected her to reach out and seize her fate by grasping his hand.

As Leta stared into the depths of madness, the runes on her necklace burnt her skin. With a gasp of realization, she finally understood the real meaning of the Gods’ prophetic words.

Despite her belief that by choosing to marry Theseus she had fulfilled the Fates’ will, that she had chosen to burn for only one man, ending her selfish circle by doing so, only now she understood that the real choice was between good and evil.

In the end, it was required of her to burn for herself and all wizardkind in a selfless act.

The rune _Gebo_ also meant sacrifice, and _Kenaz_ predicted her death.

“I love you…” _both_ , she whispered as her wand attacked Grindelwald.

While the fire spread inside her, seeping in every nook of her body like spilt ink, she finally felt free of her guilt and shame.

The moonstones fell on the granite steps and pulverized, the red ink evaporating with a hiss.

 

    

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.


End file.
